Nightmares
by The Wicked Witch of Fanfiction
Summary: Natasha loves to watch Clint, her Clint sleep. But she hates the nightmares that plague him. The nightmares that torment them, every time their eyes close. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Marvel's Avengers do not belong to me. Note the _Marvel's_ before Avengers. this is my first fanfic, I appreciate all constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Natasha loves watching him sleep. Because sleep is when his walls are easily brushed aside, when his face softens, that's what she loves to see. But there are the nightmares that come more often than peace, it's also why she hates to watch him sleep. It's what he would've laughed at and told her that she was in a "love/hate relationship with watching me sleep". She would've laughed along, but she does hate those nightmares. She wishes she could stop them, wishes that they were real so she could kill them, keep them away. But she can't.

She can only stand by her partner, her Clint, her Hawkeye, and watch. She hates feeling so helpless, unable to to help him. She hates this useless, helpless feeling. All her life, she's been taking matters into her own hands, destabilizing countries, playing the Great Game. But now...

Her own nightmares always come as soon as her eyes close. She sees him. Clint. She watches as shadowy figures, gently draw flickering blades across his face, across his arms, across his body, leaving trails of crimson drops. The blades slice across his face so gently, so carefully, and so slowly. And it always, always, wrenches her heart out. And she always, always, screams until her eyes flicker open, and she awakes.

So she stops sleeping. And soon, the dark bruises that mar the skin beneath her eyes are identical to Clint's. It's a little bit easier to stay awake, but it hurts, still. Because what they do is like the nightmares themselves. When others look at them oddly, they laugh, because it holds them together, but they know this mad laughter won't hold them together forever. They know that they'll unravel soon. They start making mistakes on their missions. Small ones, but they leave the pair in constant peril. Clint returns with Natasha who has three broken ribs a sprained ankle, and a dislocated shoulder, when they usually return with nothing more than a few scrapes. She hates to see him worry over her. But she's so tired. And so is he.

Fury calls them to his office. His words flow together in one endless stream of sound, until their eyelids droop and they give into fatigue. Only to awake moments later as they have grown accustomed to, screaming.

They are marched to the infirmary by Maria Hill, laughing it off, but all who cross their paths can hear the hysterical desperation in their hollow chuckles. They're injected into the midst of nightmares, screaming and flailing wildly. Natasha wants it to stop. But the drugs in her system won't let her. _Please._ She begs, but no, she cannot wake from the land of mental and emotional horrors that her subconscious tortures her with. She must watch. Watch as the figures bring knives across Clint's face until his face his nearly unrecognizable through the dripping blood.

_No! Stop! Please!_ She screams, trying to reach them, trying to stop them. But no, she is too far awayNo matter how fast or how far she runs, she can't reach them. And she must watch as they slice his fingertips open, see his blood dripping. She hates having been reduced to...to _this_. But for him, she'd do anything. She'd do everything. And she must watch as he screams in agony, over and over agian, matching her own screams, scream for scream.

It is difficult for Maria Hill to watch, seeing them wildly convulsing, screaming together. At last, she motions for the nurses to get the restraints on. It still hurts, to see STRIKE Team Delta so damaged. SHe'd thought they were invincible. And now...reduced to this.

Natasha awakes screaming and shaking, slumping against the pillows as she gasps for air. Maria HIll removes the retraints that bind her wrists and ankles to the bed, never once looking Natasha in the eyes. _She looks like she's just witnessed the slow and agonizing torture of everyone she cares for,_ Natasha thinks as she slides awkwardly out of bed. _Which isn't so far from what I just dreamed._

The redhead walks to Clint's bedside and carefully removes his restraints. All of a sudden, she hates her hair. So red, like blood. _Clint's _blood. She buries her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. She can feel him rest his chin on her shoulder and hug her back gently. Eventually they break apart, and leave the room, brushing past Maria Hill.

One night, she can't take it anymore, so she leaps from rooftop to rooftop until she reaches Clint's apartment. It's snugly nestled above a Chinese takeout, and next to a laundromat. She enters through a window using the fire escape, sliding in carefully.

Natasha doesn't know where he is, but she can hear the screams. She can hear the heavy panting. It's a miracle that no one has heard the screams. But then again, Manhattan is always a busy city. By day and by night, the bustle, the noise, it's there. Guiding herself through the dark apartment, she reaches his room.

He knows it's her. They don't need to say anything at all, because Clint knows it's Natasha, and Natasha knows it's Clint. Soundlessly, they break down in each other's arms. Looking into each other's eyes, they make a silent promise.

_I'm **never** leaving you as long as you never leave me._

Slowly, they slip into an astonishingly peaceful sleep, as they lie side by side, limbs tangled together. fingers curled into hair and wrapped around bodies, they breathe together as they sleep through the night. They don't need words, but they both know. Natasha needs Clint, and Clint needs Natasha. And they love each other.

_I love you._


End file.
